Voice of Innocence
by AmadErik
Summary: Old Salieri is dying and wants his name to be cleaned of the rumors about Mozart's death.


Vienna, 7th May, 1825

I was sitting by the side of his bed, saying a silent prayer in my mind. It would have been unlike of a grown man if I started crying, and I would have been ashamed if my old Master noticed that a drop of tear slowly ran across my face, no matter how I tried to hold it back. It was so sad to see him in these ungraceful circumstances, laying on his bed, motionless. I could hardly recognize him, only his eyes were somewhat giving him away, but even those eyes weren't the same. They did not reflect that gentleman - like, strict and yet, still happy and playful glow. Oh no. These eyes were now focusing somewhere behind my back, and I knew well that he could not see me. He was far away, in some dimension that us, mortals can never imagine. A loud, bitter sigh left my lips, and to that sound, he moved. I got surprised to see the old, wrinkly, weak hands that once played the piano with such a beautiful technique, moving. I was so sure that my Master was dead by the time I arrived to his house that I nearly cried out in horror.

- Oh, my dear friend. - he whispered. His voice was somewhat recognizable, however it changed and weakened because of his old age, and the illness that has been consuming his body. - so you came to see your old Maestro before he is gone.

- Maestro, please don't say such things. - I pulled my chair a bit closer to him, so he won't have to tire himself with the pain of sitting up in his bed.

- You got the letter I was dictating to my dear Francesca. And you heard that I need to talk to you, my dear young friend.

- Yes. I knew instantly that something was wrong as it wasn't your handwriting.

- Francesca is a good daughter. She is here with her old, useless father. She does everything for me. - he coughed a bit, then he slowly closed his eyes for some moments, but then he opened them again. - My dear pupil and friend, you must know that I always thought you were the most talented pupil I have ever had.

- Maybe you have fever, Maestro. When I was here with you, you only kept telling me how bad my playing was. - I smiled at him and he smiled back.

- I only wanted you to try your best. If I keep telling you how great boy you are, you would have never became the pianist you are right now. You were a bit of lazy boy, and you needed to be teased to work harder. - he laughed a bit, but his laugh was so weak and soft I wanted to cry instead of laughing with him, but I did not show it. He lay his head back on his pillow and looked up to the crucifix above his bed. I thought he fell asleep, but a few moments later he started speaking.

- You, my young dear friend, you were always like a son to me. My dear Moscheles, that's why I called you here. You are the only one who believe me. I want to go to Madonna with the belief that I leave this world with a pure soul, that I don't have any sins left behind, and people don't tell things about me that are not true. I don't want my name to be spoken with disgust and hatred by the next generations.

- But Maestro, why would they...? They can say nothing but good about you. You are an incredible talent, a great teacher, a gentleman, and a famous musician.

- I maybe was all of these you say. I can't judge it myself. Only God and Madonna can judge me in this way, and maybe the next generations who hear my music. But I can sure tell you I am none of these now. Right now, I am just an ill, miserable old fool, waiting for my last hour to come. That's why I make preparations, I only prepare myself to leave this world. I have no other goals to achieve, only this. Will you help me?

- Help you? Maestro what do you mean?

- Cleaning my name. Please - at this point his voice faded to a soft whisper - please my dear Moscheles, help me to clean my name. You know that Viennese people talk about me. They say I murdered Mozart.

- I heard that. - I sighed.

- Do you believe them? - he asked with a miserable tone in his voice.

- Of course not. - I hurried comforting him - I never believed these rumors. You were never capable of doing something horrible.

- You see, my dear Moscheles, we were never good friends with Mozart. He accused me of taking steps against his operas, and on his deathbed, he accused me of poisoning him. I know, he did not mean it on his deathbed, because he was sure delirious with high fever, but the bad thing is, since that people are talking about this. I swear to God that I would never do something like this. I was always a man who followed the rules, all in my life, I was working hard, I respected people, I helped the poor, I always loved animals and children... I married a sweet woman and fathered six beautiful daughters and raised them in good morals, they became well - behaved Italian girls, I gave them everything I could. I wrote more than 40 operas, and other music as well, and I always led a good life that God pleased the Lord.

He sat up a bot and put his hand on his heart.

- I am deadly ill, so I swear to my immortal soul and tell you, not a word is true of this rumor that I have poisoned Mozart. That's not true, it is a malicious smear-word, please tell the world, my dear Moscheles.

I put my hand on his shoulder and nodded.

- I will, Maestro, I will.

He slowly lay back on his bed.

- Old and ill Salieri says so, my dear Moscheles. I did not murder Mozart.

- Of course, you did not, Maestro.

He closed his eyes and sighed, smiled a bit. I looked up to the crucifix and finished the prayer I was saying before he woke up and we started talking. I did not check if he was still alive. I knew well that even if he was, he only had a few hours left. I whispered in the air

- Rest in peace, Antonio Salieri.

I left the house, and upon reaching the corner of the street, I heard a sudden desperate scream and cry of a woman. I stopped and ran back a few meters and I heard that the woman says:

- Il Padre! Il Padre mio... *

I knew well what that meant and I slowly walked away, finally letting my tears flow freely.


End file.
